Aphonic: Without Sound
by WrittenSins
Summary: For nineteen years, the Wizarding World has been at peace – until now. Darkness cannot stay away forever. The restless become the reckless. There is an uprising in the making, a long-awaited revolt to come, and Albus Severus Potter, the second child of Harry and Ginny Potter, finds himself directly in the middle of it. [Fully summary inside]. Scorbus Fanfic.


**Full summary:** For nineteen years, the Wizarding World has been at peace – until now. Darkness cannot stay away forever. The restless become the reckless. There is an uprising in the making, a long-awaited revolt to come, and Albus Severus Potter, the second child of Harry and Ginny Potter, finds himself directly in the middle of it.

Al is tired of being _Albus Severus Potter, Son of Harry Potter_. He just wants to be _Al_ , but he's not sure even he knows who that really is. And if he's ever going to have any hope of finding out, he'll have to survive his first year at Hogwarts first.

 **Author's notes:** To give you a general idea of how long I've been playing with this first chapter, I came up with the idea for this fanfic around the time I first learned _The Cursed Child_ was to be published. It has undergone many, _many_ revisions since then, been influenced by changing personal tastes, the release of one of the greatest movies to ever exist – _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , obviously – and life in general. So, I present to you the final, _completed_ chapter of _Aphonic: Without Sound_ also known as what I wanted from _The Cursed Child_.

 **Note:** while there will be lots of lovely fluff, Al and Scorpius will not start dating in this fanfic, as they are eleven/twelve throughout this fic.

* * *

A violent storm raged outside of the large window behind the Minister for Magic's desk, breathtaking in its ferocity. It was unlike any storm Kingsley Shacklebolt had ever seen. Dark clouds sped and churned across the sky at unnatural speeds. Rain fell in torrents, slamming against the charmed glass hard enough to rattle it in its frame. The wind howled and shrieked, an ethereal beast raging against the bowing trees. Thunder rumbled in the distance, growing louder, _closer_ , with every pass. Kingsley watched all of this, unmoving, unseeing, lost in his thoughts.

Nineteen years.

For nineteen years, the wizarding world had been at peace – until now. A clap of thunder shook the sky. Lightning cracked across the clouds. A large grandfather clock ticked steadily from the corner. Kingsley closed his eyes. His pulse jumped; another lightning bolt lit up the sky, white-hot against his eyelids.

Unsettling reports had begun to arise all over Britain. Giants, who had retreated to remote regions following the end of the war, were on the move, leaving chaos in their wake. Breeds of dragons foreign to the United Kingdom had been sighted all across the country, baffling dragon keepers and putting muggles everywhere in a frenzy. Dementors were attacking in Kent. Trolls were laying siege on villages. The amount of werewolf attacks had skyrocketed to unheard of numbers in the last four months. And yet, none of it was as chilling as the news Kingsley had received that morning:

 _ **The centaurs have revolted. Send reinforcements at once**_.

"Sir," Williams prompted.

Kingsley roused himself from his thoughts. He had almost forgotten he wasn't alone. He turned to find the Head Obliviator watching him, face pale, mouth set. The short note laid opened on the table stretched before him. His hand trembled beside it. It was a toss-up which of them were more responsible for the storm outside. It had been Williams who had identified the handwriting – Joanna Green, a young obliviator fresh out of training who should've been off dealing with careless drunks or another sibling turned toad, not sent into a battlefield. It didn't matter that Kingsley hadn't known it was a battlefield. It didn't matter that if he had, had even the slightest inkling what was awaiting the team, she never would've been a part of it. Wasn't this how it always started? The young dying in a fight they had no place being in?

"Should I send for Head Auror Potter?"

Williams' voice shook. There was an edge of desperation there that Kingsley identified easily. It was the sound of pinning all hope on one man. It was a damning sound and Kingsley's heart ached for it. But the world did not care how much Harry Potter had already done for it and Harry had taken the title of Head Auror knowing the cost.

"Not yet," Kingsley responded at length, turning back to the window. "Let him have this time with his family."

With a wave of his hand, the reflection charm on the window fell away, revealing a sunny, crisp autumn morning.

"I fear our days of peace have come to an end."

• • •

The chorus of voices and animal cries, the metallic rattling of carts on stone, and the rumble of the train engulfed platform 9¾, deafening in their symphony. Voices and laughter rose out of the steam, the excitement nearly tangible in the air, and everywhere, _everywhere_ , there was a whisper, _a whisper_ , of _The Potters_. For this was no ordinary day on platform 9¾. The day had finally come for another Potter to board the train and not just any Potter. The crowd jostled each other for a better look. Heads craned out of train windows, all trying to catch a glimpse, just a glimpse, of the boy they had read countless articles about. The boy who seemed to feature on the cover of _Witch Weekly_ more often than not, with his dark muggle clothes and scowl that could freeze fire. The word _rebel_ circled the platform in hushed tones.

"The get-up on young people these days," An elderly woman whispered loudly to her group of old biddies as she eye-balled the odd-ball Potter child. The biddies hummed and clucked and one murmured around a pipe spitting pink smoke, "Distasteful is what it is. Looks practically homeless."

Albus Severus Potter, rebel child and homeless dresser extraordinaire, suppressed the desire to roll his eyes, just barely. If his jaw wasn't clenched so tight against the nausea threatening the back of his throat, he would've been tempted to say something, _anything_. As it was, he kept his mouth shut firmly – he was _not_ going to end up on the cover of _Witch Weekly_ covered in vomit – and his trademark scowl fixed firmly on his cart. The advice Uncle George had given to him all those years ago floated through his thoughts, as it often did: _"Laughter works better than anger, trust me."_ If Al closed his eyes and thought just hard enough, he could almost pretend he was seven and snorting in derision all over again.

"That must be him!" A young girl gasped somewhere behind him. "Oh, he's _so_ –"

 _Weird, strange, different_ , his mind supplied as a woman intoned wearily, "Eyes in front, Emma."

Somewhere to his left, an older woman cried, "Spitting image of his father!" to which a man grunted, "Never recall his father looking like that."

Al switched his scowl to his school robes. Sure, they weren't as prim or neat as Rosie's, but they were _school robes_. How rebellious could they be? He picked at one of the creases mutinously and shot a covert glare at his father, talking cheerfully with Uncle Ron. The man was about as fashionable as turnip. How his mother let him leave the house looking like that was a mystery to him. As Al watched, a stitched golden snitch zipped across the back of Harry's emerald Weasley sweater. Al wondered if he truly applied himself if he could knock himself unconscious on the handle of his cart.

A whisper of his luggage caught his attention and he tensed, but it was only Lily and Hugo, conspiring ways to sneak into Hogwarts. Or rather, Lily was conspiring. Hugo was too busy cooing at the pink pygmy puff tucked into the crook of his shoulder. Buford the pygmy puff slept on, uncaring of Hugo's affections or Lily's scheming. Lily glanced around, no doubt on the lookout for eavesdroppers seeking to foil her fool proof plan. The radish earrings in her ears dangled gently as she raised herself on her tiptoes, freckled nose scrunched in concentration. She eyed Ginny suspiciously, judged how truly immersed she was in her conversation with Aunt Hermione, then moved on. She caught Al watching and stopped her plotting long enough to comment, "Maybe nobody likes you because you're always frowning."

"Lily!" Ginny scolded sharply. Apparently, she hadn't been as deaf to Lily as she led on because she rounded on the little redhead now, arms crossed and Hermione frowning her disapproval over her shoulder.

"Bite me," Al retorted.

" _Albus_."

Lily pulled a face. He pulled one back. Lily stuck out her tongue and, before Al could do the same – or that other thing he was thinking of that involved a certain finger and a summer of being grounded – Ginny put an end to it. Sighing, she grabbed Lily's shoulders and bodily turned her attention back to Hugo with a weary, "Terrorize your cousin."

"Hey!" Hugo protested indignantly.

His protests went ignored and, in a matter of seconds, him and Lily were back to their hushed conversation, heads bowed low. Hermione watched them, lips twitching. Al returned his glare to his cart and pretended not to notice the searching looks his mother sent his way.

Rose's owl, Artemis, screeched loudly in her cage. Lily's words floated around in his head. The whispers continued from all sides, relentless snippets of _Potter_ and _son_ and _father_. Al's skin prickled beneath the weight of their stares. The various stickers covering his trunk began to blur before his eyes, _Pygmy Puffs are Punk_ rendered illegible. His robes felt heavy, constricting. He wished he hadn't worn them, wished he had come up with some other solution, _any_ other solution. Hugo giggled at something Lily said, most likely about him. Rose cooed and fussed over Artemis. Ginny and Hermione began talking about Winter Holidays. Al's head spun dangerously. He struggled to breathe, fingers scrambling at the side of his robes.

He closed his eyes. He thought _Aconite. Antimony. Alihotsy._

"Look who it is," Ron said suddenly.

Al attached on like a man drowning at sea. He followed the adults' gazes to where three people stood a short distance away, shrouded slightly in the steam. The tallest of the three was a man, handsome and severe. He wore expensive black slacks and a long, dark coat buttoned just shy of the base of his throat. A light grey scarf wrapped loosely around his shoulders, opened to reveal a pale neck and sharp collar bone. Beside him stood a tall, bony brunette with features that looked as if they had been carved from marble, perfect and chilled. A large emerald green feather with swirls of black curled out of the top of her wide-brim hat and Al's jaw clenched. An augurey feather.

But it wasn't the man or the woman, or even the young boy who stood between them, that caught Al's attention – it was the crowd. Passerby's gave the small family a wide berth. Those who bothered to look at them at all did so with varying levels of cool indifference and hostility.

They were the other set of whispers. Perhaps, that was why the crowd of platform 9¾ had worked themselves into such a frenzy. Two of their favorite topics to gossip about all in one place: The Potters and The Malfoys.

Al wondered if the boy felt the looks being tossed at him as keenly as he did.

Draco Malfoy looked up then and caught sight of Al's family. He nodded stiffly and, out of the corner of his eyes, Al saw his father nod back. Mr. Malfoy moved to turn away, but at last second, his eyes lingered on Al. Al, as he often did, wondered what he saw.

"So, that's little Scorpius," Ron murmured beneath his breath.

Mr. Malfoy placed a hand on the young boy's shoulder and leaned down to say something in his ear. The boy's head snapped up. His gaze found Al.

"Don't get _too_ friendly with him though, Rosie. Grandad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pure-blood."

Al stared back. Feeling daring, he flicked an eyebrow in silent question. Rather than look embarrassed or sheepish to have been caught staring, Scorpius Malfoy tilted his head ever so slightly, as if Al was a piece of art or a crime scene he was investigating. Mr. Malfoy skimmed a hand through Scorpius' hair as he said something to the boy. The blonde didn't react, eyes never leaving Al. His mother's hand found his other shoulder. Before Scorpius' expression could give way to anything revealing, sharp, perfectly manicured fingers snapped in front of his face and his attention was called away by his mother.

Al turned back to his own family to find Rose mouthing something to the heavens, an expression that could only be described as _a hundred percent done_ on her face. Lily was attempting to feed Buford one of Aunt Luna's baked goods she had somehow managed to procure from somewhere. It was modeled after a pygmy puff, complete with electric blue frosting and large candy eyes. Buford looked suitably horrified. Al glanced back at the small family. The boy was now allowing his mother to fuss with his hair, expression resigned. Al eyed his own mother reproachfully, lest she got any ideas, but she was still talking to Aunt Hermione, her hands safely at her side.

"Hey!"

James burst through the crowd, wide-eyed and flushed.

"Teddy's back there!" He gasped out, chest heaving, cheeks burning. "Just seen him! _And guess what he's doing?_ "

Al tuned him out. Anybody with a brain had already figured out Teddy and Victoire were seeing each other. The two were about as subtle as a giant in a tutu. Only, Al knew more. Victoire had loose lips when it was just her and Al and a surface covered in make-up and dark clothes. And Al was very good at pretending to be older than he was. He had only hummed disinterestedly when Victoire had informed him her and Teddy were about as committed as poppy birds. Al didn't know much about poppy birds and he hadn't asked what that meant because Al was also very good at noticing things. Things like bright red lipstick on Victoire's collarbone and the way Teddy sometimes smelled like cigarette smoke, although no one Al knew smoked.

James yammered on, hands waving erratically through the air – it was hard to tell whether he was more excited by the juicy gossip he had unearthed or upset that Teddy hadn't seen fit to tell him about it. Al wasn't even sure if James knew which.

The sight of James reminded Al of their earlier argument and his stomach churned unpleasantly. Four houses at Hogwarts. Four possibilities. How many happy endings? Was that even a thing? Somewhere in the crowd, he caught another whisper – not of his name, it was never his _name_ – but his title, _Albus Severus Potter, son of Harry Potter_. He clenched his teeth on a scream.

 _Baneberry. Fluxweed. Knotgrass._

A foot collided with his ankle. He scowled at James, which only made the infuriating boy grin wider.

"See you later, Al. Watch out for thestrals."

"I thought they were invisible?" Al demanded. " _You_ said they were invisible."

James laughed and, after a quick goodbye to their parents, he bounded off into the crowd in search of his friends, mind already a thousand miles away from the platform. Something inside Al's chest gave a nasty twist as he watched him go. James had never had to worry about being sorted. James had never been deemed a _rebel_ anything.

Ginny crouched down and kissed Al goodbye on the cheek. Her flowery scent engulfed him, calming and familiar. She lingered close and caught Al's face lightly in her fingertips, her warm brown eyes gazing fondly into his. Up close, the splatter of freckles across her nose were more prominent than ever. Al loved those freckles.

"Try not to get expelled until at least second year, yeah?" Ginny whispered, voice hushed, as if they were discussing some great conspiracy, as if they had some arrangement set-up that he was to bust out of Hogwarts. A smile tugged at Al's lips despite his nerves. The eyes on him were suddenly meaningless, insignificant. He whispered back, "No promises."

Ginny smiled beautifully and Al's chest ached suddenly with the thought of leaving her. It hadn't occurred to him just how much he was going to miss her. He could take or leave James and Lily most days (more often than not, it erred towards _leave_ ), and he was – guiltily, painfully – ready to take a stab at life away from his father's side, even if the thought secretly terrified him. But not his mother. Ginny was the only one who could always make him smile, even when he didn't think smiling was possible. She was the one who somehow made everything alright and – although Al would sooner cut out his own tongue than admit it – she was also kind of his best friend.

He and Rose tolerated each other in short bursts or long silences filled only with the rustle of pages. Lily and Hugo were babies. James was _James_ , and everyone else liked James more anyways, even their dad. But not Ginny.

He had Dragon and Lyra, of course, and they were everything, but it wasn't the same. It couldn't be the same.

Ginny stepped back and something tore at Al's chest that made him feel like he was five and had wandered off alone into Knockturn Alley all over again. But then, Harry stepped forward and engulfed him in his arms, not unlike he had all those years ago outside off Borgin and Burkes, and that panicky voice at the back of Al's mind was temporarily quieted. Harry hugged Al fiercely, just bordering too tight, and gave last minute instructions that fell on deaf ears. Al pressed his cheek into Harry's shoulder, breathing in the soothing scent of his aftershave, and for a moment, one simple _wonderful_ moment, everything was okay. Harry rambled on in his ear, both of them aware he was just delaying saying goodbye.

Harry paused mid-advice giving to ask, "Why do you feel lumpier than I remember?"

Al responded, "Shh," and Harry half-groaned, half-laughed in his ear and hugged him even tighter still. It was perfect, but the moment didn't, couldn't, last. The warning whistle blew. There were flashes in the side-view of Al's vision, photos, cover shots for _Witch Weekly_ and every other wizarding tabloid in Britain who thought the lives of Harry Potter and his children were something newsworthy. Al hated them. He _hated_ them. Harry released him grudgingly and stood. Rose boarded the train behind Al. Harry moved to stop back and Al's hand shot out on impulse, catching his sleeve.

"What if I'm in Slytherin?" The words tore from his chest, fast and desperate and barely more than a choked whisper, but Harry heard. He crouched down until they were eye-level and Al had a sudden vivid flashback of when he was seven and Harry had taken this exact pose, had looked at him just like this. Their eyes met, identical almond-shaped green, and Al dropped his gaze to his shoes.

"Albus Severus," Harry said quietly and Al just managed not to wince at the use of his first and last name. "You were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew."

Al almost screamed. They weren't talking about Severus Snape. They were talking about _him_. "But just say -"

"-then the Slytherin house will have gained an excellent student, won't it?" Harry cut him off and Al's heart sunk like a stone, settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't even convinced he could be that much. He didn't have Rose's academic mind nor James' strong confidence. He didn't even understand _magic_ , not in the algorithmic way Teddy ranted on about, hands flying excitedly, eyes bright and shining. The only thing he was good at, it seemed, was getting in trouble. And not the kind of trouble James got into, the kind that made everyone shake their heads in fond exasperation or earned him comments like _just like your grandfather_ , rather than, _you're going to end up in jail one of these days and I'm not posting bail_ (that particular comment had come from Rose, bless her).

"It doesn't matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."

Behind Harry, Ginny made a noise at the back of her throat, but neither Harry nor Al paid it any attention.

"Really?" Al asked, searching his father's eyes. His question ran deeper than the Sorting Hat, deeper, perhaps, than the Sorting itself, but whatever he was asking, whatever he was looking for, Harry missed it. Harry smiled, a mischievous look entering his eyes that Al recognized more from James than he ever had himself.

"It did for me."

There were so many questions, all on the tip of Al's tongue, but the doors of the train were closing and Harry clapped him on the shoulder. It was time to go. Harry stepped back to join Ginny, arm looping around her waist, a broad, stupid _proud dad_ grin threatening to split his face in two. Ginny had a tight hold on Lily, who looked like she was trying hard not to cry, red-rimmed eyes fixed sullenly on a pillar to their right. Hugo was sniffling noisily into Hermione's side, one hand clinging to Ron's. Al grabbed his magically lightened trunk and finally joined an impatient Rose in the compartment.

Together, he and Rose waved goodbye to their family. Al did his best to smile. As the train began to move, Lily darted from Ginny's side and gave chase, making a valiant effort to keep pace. Hugo stumbled after her, Buford clinging on for dear life. Tears clung to Lily's big brown eyes and Al just managed to catch a shout of, "Smile, Al!" before she was swallowed by the crowd and the platform was swept out of view.

Rose wasted no time jumping into an enthusiastic, one-sided discussion about their classes and what school books she had already read – all of them, twice – her voice taking on that bossy, know-it-all tone that set Al's teeth on edge. He let her ramble on and pretended not to notice the red patches of color high on her cheeks or her misty eyes. He did his best to tune her out and focused on securing his trunk in the overhead instead. She didn't make it easy.

"- of course, I'll have to work in flying time," Rose was saying and now she was talking about quidditch, _oh joy_. "Flying lessons will most assuredly be a joke – maybe you'll find them useful, but if I'm going to make Chaser as a second year, I'll have to…"

Al closed his eyes and took several deep breaths into the dusty overhead. He was halfway through his third when the compartment door slid open and Fred and Roxanne stumbled inside, shoving at each other and shouting at the top of their lungs about a tarantula loose on the train. Al dropped his head onto the overhead with a solid thunk and, ever the cheerful being he was, mumbled into the musty velvet, "Kill me."

• • •

The landscape gave way to rolling hills and bright green fields, all traces of civilization left behind, and Scorpius Malfoy finally allowed himself to breathe. He sighed heavily and leaned his burning forehead against the window. His ears rung, a familiar, high-pitched whistling noise he was certain would one day drive him insane. That was, if his skin didn't melt off his bones and kill him first. He heard his father's voice in the back of his mind, softly amused, _think cold thoughts, Scor._ Scorpius did not think cold thoughts. He thought hot, angry thoughts, cursing whatever defective gene had gone wrong in him that every little thing had to make his skin light up like it was on fire.

Only, the cause this time didn't feel so little.

Scorpius turned his head sideways and pressed his cheek hard against the cool glass, eyes squeezing shut. His right shoulder ached. Heat burned behind even his eyelids, inescapable. He had been doing good. He hadn't blushed at all on the platform, despite the many eyes on him and the words being whispered behind his back. He had kept his head high, chin raised, like his mother had taught him. He had been doing _so_ good – until an older student had purposefully slammed into him in the corridor, nearly knocking him clean off his feet, him and his friends laughing as they walked away.

He could still hear their laughter, but worse than their laughter, worse than the throbbing in his shoulder, was the gut-wrenching realization that he had been wrong. He had hoped Hogwarts would be different. It was _supposed_ to be different. A new place. A fresh start.

He had overheard his Aunt Pansy tell his father once, while eavesdropping outside the window of his father's study, " _Once a death eater, always a death eater."_ He remembered how angry his father had gotten. It was quite possibly the angriest he had ever seen him get. Pansy had been banned from the manor for two whole weeks, but Scorpius had thought her words fitting. He may only be eleven, but he knew enough. He knew what those words – _death eater_ – meant, although his father went to great lengths to shield him from them. He knew there was more to why he could count the number of times he had seen his grandparents – both sets, both the same clipped excuses – on one hand. And he knew enough about the way the world worked to know that nobody seemed inclined to forget his family's past for a very, very long time, no matter how much good his father put into it.

Sometimes, he wondered if he knew more than his father did, simply because his father refused to see it.

The heat slowly leeched from Scorpius' skin and into the glass. The ringing stopped. Gingerly, he rolled his shoulder and tried not to think about how this was the first time anyone had ever purposefully tried to hurt him – at least, since that time he was five and Mackenzie Knott had shoved him to the floor for gagging at the prospect of kissing her on the cheek. In his defense, he hadn't even _been_ the prince, he had been the dragon, and Mackenzie Knott had _certainly_ been no princess.

Tears safely averted, Scorpius sighed and opened his eyes. The train hummed gently beneath his ear, the _clickity-clack_ of the track a soothing beat. His mind threatened to drift to his earlier conversation with his father right before he had boarded the train, threatened to relieve the _you can be anything you want_ and _nobody defines you, but you_ speech. Instead, his fingertips skittered along the ledge of the window, tapping out an erratic beat, and he thought about something _else_.

The compartment door slid open, startling Scorpius out of thoughts of murmured warnings and bright green eyes. He smacked his temple against the window pane with an audible _thump_. Heat seared at once across his chest and face. He turned to look at his intruder, trying and failing not to look like one who had just face-planted a window.

A boy stood in the doorway to his compartment, one quite unlike any Scorpius had ever met. He was scrawny – scrawnier, even, than Scorpius. His school robes hung messily off his thin frame, clasped at the front despite the warmth of the train, and his hair – it looked simply too wild to belong. Dark and tousled, it seemed far too devil-may-care for an eleven-year-old boy or a dreary school train. Scorpius thought it was brilliant. He thought everything about the boy looked brilliant, from the black nails standing starkly out from the door frame to the hint of an inked-on scribble in the crook of the boy's left elbow, just visible beneath a slipped down sleeve. But it was his eyes that stole the show. Bright emeralds framed by thick black lashes, only intensified further by the dark shadows beneath. And they were currently fixed on Scorpius.

A trunk sat on the ground beside the boy.

Scorpius had never quite understood why the papers insisted Albus Potter was the spitting image of his father. There was a _world_ of difference.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Al's voice was quieter than Scorpius had imagined it, softer. Gentler. There was something else off about him as well, something _different_ that Scorpius couldn't quite place. Perhaps it was the way Albus Potter held himself, tensed and coiled tight, looking for all the world like a stray cat ready to pounce. Or maybe it was the fact that he was there at all.

There was a pause, a hesitation, as Scorpius remembered fingers snapping sharply before his face and Al kept his thoughts hidden behind too green eyes. Then, Scorpius took a leap.

"Not at all."

Al stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He slipped his trunk into the overhead, grateful the lightening charm had yet to fade. He could feel the young Malfoy's eyes on him, watching him, but he was too strung up to really care. As long as Scorpius didn't start spewing out questions about his father, he was already a far cry better than what Al had just left. Al took the seat across from him and met the boy's curious gaze with one of his own. Scorpius didn't bother to look away. Instead, he tilted his head to the left, the same as he had on the platform.

Neither of them bothered with introductions.

Al wondered if Scorpius knew his hair was still a mess from when his father had run his fingers through it. He considered pointing it out, but then decided he rather liked it and chose not to. At some point, the blonde had shed the expensive long coat he had been wearing on the platform and Al took in his outfit with interest. It was completely and utterly muggle. Light blue skinny jeans with a tear in the left knee – unintentional, by the looks of it – and a simple grey zip-up. A white t-shirt peeked out from beneath his hoodie, a hint of color just visible above the zipper. Black, heavily buckled combat boots completed the look, just a tad too large for his thin frame.

Al approved instantly and rather than risk Scorpius seeing that on his face, he turned his gaze out the window. Silence descended thickly on the small compartment. Al was usually good with silences. In fact, he preferred them. People reacted interestingly in silences. Ten seconds in silence with Scorpius Malfoy was all Al needed to know the blonde did not share this preference. He could almost _feel_ the words building up in the boy's throat, vibrating around and threatening to spew. He began to count. He made it to forty-seven seconds before –

"My mother won't let me get a pygmy puff," Scorpius blurted out and Al jerked his head up to look at him. He stared blankly. Scorpius began to blush. It was a tremendous thing. It started at the base of his throat and flooded rapidly in all directions, a rush of scarlet. Al watched, mesmerized, until Scorpius gestured vaguely over Al's head towards the luggage rack. "Your trunk. There was a sticker…"

"Oh," Al said. Scorpius sunk into his seat and stared miserably at the toe of his boots, face burning. Al cleared his throat. Scorpius' eyes snapped to him. "My cousin got it for me. Hugo. He thought it was funny, I suppose."

"It's cool," Scorpius said. Another brief silence followed in which Scorpius' fingers danced on his knees and then Scorpius was speaking again, as if he couldn't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth if he tried, "I saw this adorable purple one at Weasley Wizard Wheezies once and I didn't even get the chance to _ask_. My mother cut the idea down immediately. She's not a big fan of cute. Or purple. At least, not in concern to me."

"I see."

"I didn't really want one anyways," Scorpius continued. "I'd probably lose it or forget to feed it, or get overly attached and turn into one of those people who's always shoving pictures of their pets in people's faces and insisting they look at them because _aren't they just precious_."

"That would make things awkward if you lost it."

Scorpius started to smile, a soft, tentative thing. " _Hey stranger, do you want to see a photo of the cutest pygmy puff to ever live? While I have your attention, you haven't happened to actually_ see _it anywhere, have you? Seem to have misplaced it."_

Al's lips twitched. "You don't happen to own a tarantula, do you?"

"No, 'course not," Scorpius said. "Lost that ages ago."

Al smiled. Scorpius started to smile back, a bright, pleased thing, then his eyes flicked up and his mouth fell open. He closed it, swallowed, then opened it again only to close it a second time, brow knitted, head tilted. His gaze flicked back down to Al's. Conversationally, he said, "This is either not news to you, or it is very startling news – not going to lie, I'm kind of hoping for the second – but are you aware you have a _creature_ on your head?"

It took a second for it to dawn on Al – a rather horrible second where he found exactly how he felt about the idea of a tarantula on his head and decided he was not a fan _at all_ – but then, he smiled. It was more of a smirk, really, one half of his lips tilted up, and Scorpius sat just a little bit taller for it, heart thumping.

"That's dragon."

" _You have a baby dragon on your head?"_

"Not _a_ dragon," Al corrected. He raised his arm to his forehead and tilted his head forward. The reptile perched amidst his wild black locks obediently clambered onto it, grabby hands clutching at the fabric of Al's robes. Al carefully lowered his arm to show him to Scorpius. "His _name_ is Dragon. He's a _Monströse Eidechse_ , a German breed of magical lizards. My aunt rescued him from trappers." Al frowned. "He doesn't normally show himself to strangers. He stays invisible when we're in public. People make him nervous."

They both peered down at the lizard in question. Dragon did not look very nervous at all. He stretched his limbs out leisurely one by one and opened his mouth on a tiny yawn. He was smaller than some of the lizards Scorpius had seen at a muggle zoo once, roughly about the length of Al's forearm from nose to tail. His skin was a pretty shade of leaf-green, lighter towards the underside, and his black eyes were ringed with black markings. Leaf green eye-lids were the only thing that separated his eyes from the markings around them, giving the illusion his eyes were twice their actual size when open. Spikes trailed the ridge of his spine, sharp, bone-colored things. More traced the sides of his tail in two neat rows.

He was small and kind of cute, but his eyes were shifty. Scorpius refused to be fooled.

"He's my first pet," Al said, scratching a finger absently beneath the lizard's chin. Dragon rumbled faintly, eyes slipping closed. "I was five when I met him."

"There's more, isn't there?" Scorpius asked. "The look in your eyes suggests there's more and that they are terrifying."

Al smirked, a mischievous little thing.

"One," He said, this look entering his eyes and suddenly Scorpius remembered his father's mouth near his ear, his soft murmur, _"Best stay away. Potters are nothing, but trouble, trust me."_ Worse, he remembered his mother's fingertips, digging into his shoulder blade. The result was a confusing mixture of apprehension, excitement, and utter terror. It was exhilarating. He thought Al must've seen this on his face because the boy's smirk widened into a smile, green eyes bright.

Al returned Dragon to the top of his head and the lizard made himself at home amongst the forest of black locks, nestling in contentedly. The next time Scorpius blinked, the lizard was gone, but far more disorienting than a disappearing lizard was the fact that Albus Potter had an _animal_ living in his hair and yet his hair still looked brilliant.

Al looked at Scorpius, sizing him up. Scorpius straightened, nerves fluttering in his stomach.

Al hooked a finger into the collar of his school robe and pulled outwards. Anticipation and interest curled through Al as he watched Scorpius for his reaction. He didn't bother to say anything. He didn't have to. He simply thought, _you can come out_. Something shifted around Al's stomach beneath his robes. Scorpius watched, wide-eyed and captivated, as _something_ moved beneath Al's robes and rose steadily up towards his collar, unfurling as it went.

In retrospect, Scorpius should've seen it coming. What else could it have been, really? And yet, when a snake slid agilely out of Al's collar, Scorpius jumped back, a startled noise leaving his throat. The snake was a vibrant mix of pink and purple, its scales catching and glittering in the sunlight streaming through the window. It was long, at least two feet – far longer than Scorpius' preferred snake size, which was a nice, safe worm-sized range – and thin, roughly as wide around as Scorpius' thumb and index finger circled together. The snake wrapped itself twice around Al's neck before it settled down, gold eyes fixing on Scorpius. A black forked tongue flicked out. Scorpius got the distinct impression the snake was tasting him.

Al was watching him, expectant.

So Scorpius said, "That's it? Here I was expecting something utterly terrifying. Like a less nicer looking snake."

"Her name is Lyra," Al said, stroking the snake's head lovingly. "I had to sneak her in my robes. Apparently, snakes aren't allowed at Hogwarts, which makes sense, you know, with them having a whole _house_ inspired by them."

Lyra lifted her head, upper body bobbing gently in the air as she regarded Scorpius. _His heart is racing like a little mouse_ , a soft voice hissed inside Al's head and Al suppressed a smile. He didn't need Lyra's assessment to know Scorpius was afraid. He could see it in the boy's dilated, wide grey eyes, in the quickened rise and fall of his chest. And yet, the boy didn't shy away. There was something in that Al liked. There was something about _Scorpius_ Al liked. Maybe it was the way he held himself, shy and hesitant and waiting to burst, or the way he blushed with his everything. Maybe it was the way dragon had showed himself to the boy, when the lizard very rarely showed himself to anybody, or the dimples that popped in his cheeks when he smiled.

And maybe, just a little, it was because if anybody had a chance of feeling what Al felt on a daily basis it was him.

"Gryffindor is represented by a lion and I'm pretty sure those aren't allowed either," Scorpius pointed out fairly.

And Al said, "Can you keep a secret?"

He hadn't known he was going to say it until it was out, but Scorpius' responding " _Yes_ ," was instantaneous and just a little bit breathless, and Al's mind was made up. Lyra bumped her head affectionately against his cheek. Al kept his eyes on Scorpius as his lips parted. Scorpius held his breath, but it wasn't words that left Albus Potter's mouth. A low, soft hiss cut through the train compartment, making the hair at the back of Scorpius' neck raise. With a jolt, Scorpius realized it was coming from Al. Lyra hissed back, gold eyes fixed on Scorpius with an unerring intelligence. Al waited.

All Scorpius managed was, "Uwha."

Al smiled. Scorpius struggled to find words, managed, "Wha," realized that also wasn't a word, tried again, "You're a parselmouth. _You're a parselmouth_."

Scorpius thought rapidly, flipping through every article he had ever read about Albus Potter – and there had been a _lot_ , not that he would ever tell Al as much – but he came up empty. Not a single mention of parseltongue anywhere. The only time he had ever heard _parseltongue_ associated with the Potters was when he had eavesdropped on one of his father's and Aunt Pansy's favorite bash-everyone-over-wine sessions. Harry Potter came up frequently in these sessions. But Harry Potter had supposedly lost the ability after the war.

Al shook his head, a little smile playing around his lips.

"Lyra's a dragosnake," Al explained. "Dragosnakes have a unique ability. In their lifetime, they can bond just once with a person of their choosing. When they do, a connection is established between the person and the dragosnake. One result is that they can speak to each other through their thoughts. Lyra's been teaching me parseltongue. She practically taught herself English."

"She's been _teaching_ you parseltongue?" Scorpius repeated. " _You can learn parseltongue_?"

Scorpius had never heard of such a thing. Parselmouths were born, not taught. How did one learn a language that consisted of hissing?

Al responded, "You can learn anything," and Scorpius thought immediately, dazedly, _**you**_ _could learn anything_.

"I don't get it," Scorpius said faintly. Al looked at him curiously and Scorpius continued, struggling to find the right words, "I really don't get it. Everyone is always asking you about your dad, right? All the articles with you are really about him. _I don't get it_. Have they met you? Why would anyone waste time on your dad when they could be talking about you?"

Al stilled. There was a quiet moment in the compartment in which Al stared, wide-eyed and stunned, and Scorpius realized what he had said. Red flooded over Scorpius' pale skin. He thought, miserably _, this is why I shouldn't be allowed to be around people_. But then, Al smiled, broad and blinding, a smile that made his whole face light up, and Scorpius didn't care if he had made a moron of himself. He'd do it a hundred times over, if Al smiled like that. In fact, he was about to do so again, right now. An itch started beneath Scorpius' skin and the words blurted out before Scorpius could stop them – always before he could stop them – "Can I take your picture?"

Al stared curiously. Scorpius turned impossibly redder.

"Not in a weird way," Scorpius said immediately, then regretted it as he wondered what a _weird way_ entailed. "I take photos – I mean, I _like_ taking photos. Not the wizarding ones, that move, but – but still ones. Muggle ones. I've got a muggle camera - My mum got it for me - but it's the stillness that I like, catching just the right moment. You can't get that in a wizarding photo, you know? That _moment_ – it's _beautiful_."

Scorpius abruptly snapped his mouth shut, face a vivid shade of dark red now, and dropped his gaze to his boots. Al had, had his photo taken too many times by too many people without his permission, had seen too many photos of himself plastered above headlines that cut and tore at something inside him, to like his photo taken. He didn't let people take his photo anymore. Not his parents, not his grandparents, not Dennis Creevey, who was quite possibly the nicest guy he had ever met and the only photographer his father and family used for photo ops. The closest he had come in the last four years was when Victoire had painted a portrait of him and only because it had been Dragon she had asked to paint and the lizard had refused to budge from Al's head.

"I don't like my photo taken," Al said finally into the silence that had fallen, voice scratchy. Scorpius nodded, gaze still on his boots. "But you can."

Scorpius' eyes jumped to him and his face lit up. Al's stomach fluttered. It must've been nerves. Scorpius scrambled up on his seat and rummaged around in his trunk in the overhead. He sneezed cutely as a cloud of dust filled the air and Al, without conscious thought, added it to the things about Scorpius he liked. Scorpius returned to his seat clutching a small muggle camera. Grandpa Weasley had, had something similar once, before Uncle Charlie had 'accidentally' launched it into a lake on a family outing. Scorpius' looked much more expensive, a pretty shade of light blue. It had a smiling cartoon octopus sticker on the front of it, next to the lens. Al was fascinated by that sticker.

"I don't like being told to smile," Al said as Scorpius raised the camera.

Scorpius said, "I don't like fake smiles," before, with a push of a button, a soft _click_ sounded.

Al felt his cheeks heat despite his best efforts. "Did I blink?"

"No, but you have a booger in your nose."

" _Delete it now_ ," Al demanded, arm jumping to cover his nose.

Scorpius laughed brightly and took another photo.

"Kidding. _Kidding_."

Al scowled and kicked his ankle playfully. Scorpius took another photo.

"Okay, that's enough."

 _Click_.

"I'm serious."

 _Click_.

"I swear to -"

 _Click_.

" _Scorpius Malfoy_."

Al was on his back on the seat, laughing helplessly and trying to shove Scorpius' camera out of his face when the compartment door slammed open with a resounding _crack!_ They flinched and Scorpius froze atop of Al, camera hovering over his face. Scorpius was looking at the door, but Al was watching him. He saw the moment Scorpius' expression changed from wide-eyed, open-mouthed surprise to something _else_ , something that made the laughter in his chest turn cold. The color bled from Scorpius' face. His mouth twisted down. He looked anxious and worried and more than a little scared, and somehow, Al already knew. A led weight formed in his stomach and he _knew_.

He let his head fall back, chin tilting up.

Scorpius had been right to look anxious.

James Potter stood in the doorway of their compartment and he didn't look the slightest bit happy to be there. Belatedly, Scorpius scrambled off Al and to the other side of the seat, trying and failing to look composed. The blush that had faded somewhere between photos and laughter returned full force and Al found while he very much liked Scorpius' blush, he did not much care for the cause of it at this moment. Al sat up slowly, carefully, avoiding James' gaze for as long as he could.

"What are you doing?" James demanded in way of a greeting. He kept his eyes fixed on Al, ignoring Scorpius completely.

"Sitting. Riding a train. Talking to you," Al hedged, voice calmer than he felt.

"Why are you sitting with _him?_ "

"Well, you see Jaimie, typically trains have different compartments and, typically, in these compartments, you sit with other passengers."

Scorpius snickered and for a second, Al was winning, pleased and smug at his response, that Scorpius had found it funny – only Teddy ever laughed at Al's comments and jokes and only when no adults were around to hear. Sometimes Ginny smiled, but she had to pretend not to, as a mother and all. James' expression darkened and Al's smirk fell away. Angry red stained James' cheeks and neck, his brown eyes furious. Al wondered if it had been the snarky comment or the use of _Jaimie_ that had caused it. Only Teddy got away with _Jaimie_ anymore.

"Cut the crap," warned James. "Rose said you stormed out of the compartment without a word and now you're sitting with _Malfoy_?"

Al felt Scorpius' gaze on him. He bristled, face burning.

" _I_ can sit with whoever I want and did Rose happen to mention the reason _why_ I left that compartment?"

"So, some kid was bugging you with questions about dad," James rolled his eyes and Al's anger mounted a hundred-fold, roaring inside him, because James didn't _get_ it. James would never get it. "Big deal. Just tell him to piss off if it annoys you." James folded his arms and locked his jaw. "You're not sitting here."

In seconds, Al was on his feet and mimicking James' pose, right down to the stubborn set in his jaw and narrowed eyes. Only, Al had a way of owning anger, as if he had been born predisposed to it. Sometimes he felt like he was always angry and it was just waiting for an excuse to come out.

"You can't tell me where to sit."

"I'm your older brother. It's my job to tell you when you're doing something completely stupid, like sitting with a _Malfoy_." It was the second time James had spat out the name like it was something vile. Al felt it grate against his nerves, gritted his teeth. James lowered his voice as he added, "People will talk."

Al almost laughed. "People _always_ talk."

"Why can't you ever just behave?" James exploded.

"That's rich coming from you."

"You know what I mean! Why can't you be…" James fumbled angrily for a word before he blurted out, "NORMAL!"

His voice echoed around the compartment. Al flinched as if James had struck him. He took a step back, lips pressed tight, and glared at James to hide the deep radiating hurt spanning through his chest, threatening to cut off his air supply. _Normal_. He knew what James meant. If he had been off blowing up toilets or pulling pranks, James would be ecstatic. Hell, he might even be _proud_. But Al wasn't off blowing up toilets. He wasn't slipping spiders into girls' compartments or setting off Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder in the corridors as a dare.

He was listening to loud music James didn't understand, slouching off to quiet corners because he couldn't breathe amidst his own too loud family, letting Victoire do his make-up, conspiring with Teddy, falling just a little bit in love with Scorpius Malfoy.

Al crossed his arms tight over his chest, over the feeling of falling apart at the seams. He didn't budge. James sighed explosively. His voice was quiet in the wake of their shouting.

"I'll tell dad."

"Go for it," Al said, voice hitting a cold, calm tone, reckless and uncaring. "While you're at it, ask him how he feels about that invisibility cloak of his you stole."

It was an empty threat, but it did the trick. James' face went scarlet. He thought he was _so_ clever snagging dad's cloak from his office. What James didn't know was that Harry _let_ him. As if a thirteen-year-old could get his hands on something that belonged to the Head Auror otherwise. What James didn't know was that the only reason he got the chance to take it was because Al had decided he didn't need it – he could go unnoticed just fine without an invisibility cloak. He was born invisible. But now, _now_ , Al was thinking _why not_ , a cloak to match the map already tucked away in his trunk. As James stared him down, Al's mind was already moving, already planning how he would get his hands on the cloak. He wondered, when it turned up missing, if James would stop to consider for even a second his little brother had taken it from him, had one-upped him. He wouldn't. Al would have it by the end of the month.

"Fine," James snapped, breaking first. He always did. Al was unbreakable. "But when people start avoiding you too, don't come crying to me."

Al wanted to scream back _they already do_ , but James turned on his heel and stalked out of the compartment, slamming the door behind him so hard it rattled in its frame. Al stared after him, red-faced and breathing hard, arms clenched so tightly over his chest it bordered on painful. His pulse thumped erratically in his ears and he knew if he unfurled his hands from his arms they'd be shaking. He squeezed his arms tighter. James' words echoed in his head and he struggled to remember how to breathe properly. _Normal_. The compartment began to spin. He wanted to scream and break things. He wanted to be in his bedroom, door locked and music blaring so loudly he couldn't think if he wanted to, surrounded by posters and photos of far off places.

The compartment dimmed. Al squeezed his eyes closed. _Baneberry. Centaury. Dandelion root._

"Al."

Al jumped and whirled. He had forgotten Scorpius was there. The blonde was watching him, grey eyes flecked with concern. The instinct to lash out was there, on the tip of Al's tongue, but then he met Scorpius' eyes and guilt hit instead, hot and hard. He remembered the way James had spat _Malfoy_ , remembered the words _when people start avoiding you too_. A new, frailer anger filled him. He felt nauseas. He felt desperate. He wanted to apologize, but couldn't find the right words – how did one apologize for another's words?

It was Scorpius who spoke first.

"I turn violently red and hear a high-pitched ringing noise every time I get worked up," Scorpius said, half-nerves, half-challenge.

Al released a ragged breath. He felt something inside him come undone. "I list potion ingredients in my head until I can breathe again. Sometimes it doesn't work."

Al had never told anybody that before. He braced for Scorpius to call him weird or strange, to tell him how wrecked he was, or worse, to ask what he did next, when the potion ingredients didn't work. But Scorpius did none of that. He smiled, a shy, little, crooked thing, the hint of dimples popping out on his cheeks.

"My Aunt Pansy says broken people fit best together, like puzzle pieces." Scorpius' eyes widened. "Not that I think you're broken or I'm broken – she says that about her and my dad and Uncle Blaise. I wasn't implying -"

But Al smiled, something ragged releasing in his chest, easing. "I like that."

Scorpius' answering smile was blinding. Al smiled back, powerless to stop it. Scorpius moved faster than Al could react, camera shooting up and snapping a photo with a soft _click_. Al's mouth fell open indignantly and Scorpius smiled cheekily at him over his camera as he asked, playfully, "Smile?"

And Al did, but not without lunging across the compartment for the camera.

They wrestled over it, a tell-tale _click_ sounding every few moments, taking photos of Merlin knows what. After several minutes of elbowing and scrambling, they gave up wrestling all together and Al somehow found himself posing for photos with Scorpius, wedged between the blonde and a cushion on a cramped train seat. If someone had told Al that morning he would find himself on a train with his cheek pressed against Scorpius Malfoy's, willingly pulling faces at a camera and allowing his photo to be taken, he would have called them mental.

More importantly, if someone had told him he'd have a fight with James and not spend the rest of the day tormenting himself over the older boy's words, picking apart flaws and differences, he would have known they didn't really know him at all. And yet, James' appearance in their compartment was a fleeting memory, distant and insignificant, as Al laughed with Scorpius.

Scorpius lowered the camera when the trolley arrived and If the squat older woman manning it found it odd to find a Malfoy and a Potter squeezed together side-by-side on a cushion, a sleeping snake and lizard occupying the other seat, she certainly didn't show it. She only smiled and asked, "Sweets, anyone?" and in that moment, Al loved her just a little bit too. He bought a large handful of pumpkin pasties and three bottles of pumpkin juice. Scorpius bought every else. The blonde dumped the sweets victoriously on the seat between them. Al watched, amused.

"Got enough?"

In response, Scorpius threw a chocolate frog at him. When Scorpius grabbed his camera and took a photo of the pile of sweets, Al choked on his pumpkin juice laughing. Scorpius took a photo of that too and Al threw the chocolate frog back at him.

Talking to Scorpius Malfoy was incredibly easy, Al soon found out. Al had never been much for talking. He preferred short sentences that usually involved a fair amount of sarcasm, and general silence. But Scorpius was different. He had a nice voice, even and soft most of the time, spiking when he got excited. He got excited often. Al learned he had started taking photos when he was five, after his father had bought him a little toy wizcam for a trip to Brazil. He had fallen in love with both taking photos and Brazil. He also liked the ocean and his favorite color was blue. His favorite animal was a fish, but a traumatizing experience when he was seven and had to flush a goldfish named Bubbles down a toilet had turned that love to one from afar. His parents took him to a muggle aquarium for his birthday every year. It was quite possibly his favorite place on earth.

Al told Scorpius he loved music – _all_ kinds of music, but particularly anything loud and violent. He told him about the time he had snuck out at night and took the Knight Bus to muggle London to buy a new album his parents had refused to get him – most likely, Scorpius reasoned, because the album had been titled _Fuck._ with a capital _F_ and a period at the end. Scorpius' eyes went round and Al didn't tell him that the idea of hopping the Knight Bus alone for the first time had terrified him, but James had upset him so badly earlier that day it was either cry in his room or _go_. He had gone. He had been eight. His parents had lectured him half the night and grounded him for a month, but he hadn't cried once and hasn't cried since. Scorpius also learned Al had a love for the Knight Bus and rode on it often with his mother.

Scorpius told Al about the time he ate snails in France and threw up on the waiter's shoes in a fancy restaurant. His mother and father couldn't stop laughing. It was one of Scorpius' favorite memories. Al told Scorpius had could play guitar, then backtracked and admitted he could _sort of_ play the guitar. Teddy had been teaching him over the summer, but between work and life, they had only managed to squeeze in six lessons. Al had decided to forgive Teddy the second he took him aside last night and presented him with a brand new acoustic guitar that was all his. It was shrunk in Al's trunk right now and Al was itching to try it out – he hadn't gotten a chance last night, between packing and panicking.

When a comfortable lull fell in their conversation, the subject of Hogwarts was finally broached. The sky had grown darker outside the window, the sun dipping behind the horizon.

"What house do you think you'll be sorted into?" Al asked.

They were sitting across from each other on the same seat, Scorpius' pretzel-style against the window and Al leaning back against the wall, one knee tucked to his chest. Al could feel Scorpius' eyes on him, but he kept his gaze on the pumpkin pasty wrapper he was fiddling with.

"Wherever the Sorting Hat puts me, I'll be happy," Scorpius said. Al couldn't help the look of pure disbelief that cross his face and Scorpius laughed. "I'm serious. If there's one thing I don't want my last name to decide for me, it's this. I want to go where the Sorting Hat thinks I belong, not where I or anyone else thinks I should go."

Al thought over Scorpius' words for a long moment before he pointed out, "You didn't answer the question."

"Noticed that did you?"

Al gave his ankle a light kick. Scorpius retaliated by throwing the first sweet he snagged. It was a pumpkin pasty. Al very pointedly made a show of opening it and popping it into his mouth. Scorpius rolled his eyes and kicked him back.

"Slytherin."

Al paused, cheek bulging with pumpkin pasty. "What?"

His voice sounded scratchy.

"You asked what house I think I'll be sorted into. Slytherin. And not because my father was or my mother or anyone else. Not because of any garbage like that, but because it feels right. Also, the common room goes under the lake. My dad said there's all kinds of different fishes that swim by the windows and merpeople. He said even the mermaids will occasionally visit and -"

Scorpius realized how high and fast he had stated talking and cut himself off abruptly, inspecting a hole in the seat with interest. He glanced sidelong at Al. "What about you? What house do you think you'll be sorted into?"

Al's smile disappeared at once. He twirled the pumpkin pasty wrapper, not looking at Scorpius and echoed, "Wherever the Sorting Hat puts me."

"You didn't answer the question."

Al smiled faintly. "Noticed that did you?"

Al didn't elaborate further and Scorpius let it go. Instead, he moved the subject to classes. Al didn't respond, but he listened and so Scorpius kept talking for the both of them. Slowly, the tension left Al's shoulders. Scorpius rambled on about Herbology and plants, until the comment, "My mother doesn't let me help in the garden anymore," slipped from his lips and he stopped talking all together. Scorpius dropped his gaze to his fingers, fiddling with them in his lap. Red slowly crept up from the collar of his shirt.

"My Uncle Neville is the herbology professor," Al said. "He's crazy about plants. He has this gigantic garden at his house, and he helps Aunt Luna and Uncle Rolf a lot with the terrain for the animal enclosures. He's pretty amazing." Al hesitated, Scorpius' gaze still downcast, before he blurted out, "I could show you."

Scorpius looked up curiously.

"The habitats and the animals," Al continued, hardly daring to believe the words were leaving his mouth. "I could show you, if you want. Rolf doesn't usually let people in there – it was passed down from his grandfather – but he lets me and I could bring you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, if you're with me."

Scorpius didn't really understand what Al was talking about – some type of private zoo? – but it didn't _matter_ , because Al had said he could bring him, his uncle wouldn't mind if he was _with him_ , and Scorpius smiled widely, dimples popping.

"And you can meet my dad," Scorpius said.

"That's certainly a thing we can discuss."

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Not like in an awkward _hey meet my new friend way_ – well, that too – but I meant because you like potions, right? My dad is a potions master. He has this huge potion lab. I'm not really allowed in there, something about being a hazard, but you seem to have decent control over your motor skills. He'd probably let you in there."

Scorpius stopped talking abruptly, insides turning cold as he realized what he was saying. And who he was saying it to. He tensed, but Albus Potter did not look bothered by the prospect of meeting Draco Malfoy. Rather, he looked interested.

"He's a healer, isn't he?" Al asked, and the words hit Scorpius hard, harder than they should've. _Healer_. Scorpius had head a lot of people say a lot of things about his father. It was never _healer_. He managed a nod, a lump forming in his throat. Al seemed to realize words had escaped him, because he talked instead. "At St. Mungo's. He fixed me up once, when I cracked my head open. I remember because another healer was attending to me, but he was too busy asking my dad questions to pay attention to the blood pouring out of my head. My dad was pissed. _Your_ dad was furious. One second, he was just walking by, reading this clipboard. The next, the healer was running away in tears and my head was healed. Your dad's kind of my idol."

Scorpius grinned blindingly. "The _best_ healer. And we're coming back to that story. When he's not on call, he develops healing potions and not just for St. Mungo's, because not everyone can afford to go to St. Mungo's when they're not gravely injured, you know? He makes them for smaller clinics to and shelters. Every Christmas, we give food and pepper-up potions to the homeless, even the muggle ones – and I'm not supposed to tell people that because it's illegal to give muggles potions, scratch that part, but yeah." Scorpius lifted a single shoulder. "He's pretty cool. I'm a fan."

Scorpius began to blush the second the words left him, groaning internally. _What was wrong with him?_ But Al didn't call him a daddy's boy, only smiled, green eyes warm.

"How'd you crack your head open?" Scorpius asked.

"Fell out of a tree," Al said. He groped for his third bottle of pumpkin juice, which had rolled under the seat. "Lily's fault, though. I wouldn't have fell if she hadn't come charging out of nowhere, screaming like a banshee. In my defense, I think a couple of birds fell too."

"Why were you in a tree?"

"Oh, you know, I like to pretend I'm a giant bird sometimes – that was a joke. I really don't do that. Please stop looking at me that way."

"Whatever, bird boy."

Al scowled and flicked the cap of his pumpkin juice at Scorpius. Scorpius yelped and attempted to shield his face. The cap bounced off his cheek.

"I see why your dad doesn't let you in his potions lab."

"Ha, ha. _You're so funny_."

Scorpius threw the cap back and missed by a landslide.

The sky outside had darkened completely, the stars the only source of light now.

"Hey," Scorpius said, and Al paused where he was leaning against the wall, a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean waiting to be launched in his hand. Scorpius had adjusted from pretzel-style to both knees up and tucked to his chest, a box of Bertie Bott's beans cradled between. Beans littered the seat and floor around them. "You said anything can be learned, right?"

"Maybe," Al said. "Why?"

Scorpius hedged, flicking a bean off his knee, before he said in a rush, "You think you could teach someone else parseltongue?"

Al slowly started to smile. "You want me to teach you parseltongue?"

Scorpius shrugged and picked at the hole in his left knee. He glanced slyly up at Al, "I could teach you French."

"You can speak French?"

" _Oui_."

Al pretended to consider for a moment before he said, "Deal. Now, catch."

Al launched the bean. It bounced off Scorpius' pointed noise and fell to the ground. Scorpius tried next, missing by a long shot. Al tried to move his mouth to catch it and nearly fell off the seat. Al straightened, a smirk on his face they were really going to have to do something about before Al met Scorpius' parents.

"Do you know any swear words in French?"

"Do you know any swear words in Parseltongue?"

Al's eyes glittered mischievously and he smiled widely. _Of course_ he knew swear words in parseltongue, Scorpius thought with a snort.

"Maybe my parents will like me swearing more if it's in a language they don't understand."

"That's the spirit."

When the train finally pulled into the station, Scorpius dragged on his robes over his clothes. Al and Scorpius shared a look before they joined the throng of students in the corridor. Immediately, students began avoiding them, but, for once, Scorpius was fairly certain it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Lyra draped leisurely around Al's shoulders. Al hadn't even blinked an eye at the announcer's orders to leave all pets on the train. Scorpius _swore_ Lyra had openly scoffed.

Hagrid was waiting for them on the platform. He beamed and waved cheerfully at Al when he saw him. His smile grew when he caught sight of Lyra, then turned into a frown, and Al quickly pulled Scorpius into the crowd of first years.

Hagrid led the first years down a dark passageway, the lantern dangling from his giant hand the only source of light. The passageway was nearly pitch black. Students stumbled their way forward. A girl with pigtails had the misfortune of bumping face first into Lyra. She took off screaming in the opposite direction, bowling over several students as she went. Scorpius leaned towards Al and whispered, "I think she likes her."

Al snickered quietly.

The passage gave way abruptly and as one, the first years gasped. A large, glassy black lake stretched out before them, a fleet of small boats perched atop its inky surface. Each boat had a thin wooden pole at its front with a lantern, the warm, orange lights swaying slightly in the breeze. But the lake and the boats, as impressive as they were, were _nothing_ , a mere afterthought, because there, in the distance, stood Hogwarts, perched high upon a mountain of rock. Lights twinkled from the castle windows like little stars, welcoming them home. Al sucked in a deep breath and held it until Scorpius gently bumped his shoulder.

The other first years had already begun to claim their boats, their feverish excitement thick in the night air. Al spotted Rose already in a boat along with their cousin Molly, who was hanging over the side, face green as Rose patted her back. Al steered Scorpius in the opposite direction. There was only one boat ahead with two spots available. Two girls already sat in the boat, one fair-haired, the other dark. Only the blonde turned her head to acknowledge them, smiling briefly before her gaze turned back to the castle in the distance, fingers playing with a thin silver chain around her neck.

Al had just settled when a tall, willowy first year appeared in front of their boat. Devin Wood had dark brown hair, freckles, and upturned eyebrows that gave him a perpetually mischievous look, but it was his smile that Al remembered most, crooked and revealing just a hint of sharp canines. He smiled at Al now and a hazy memory tugged at the back of Al's mind, one he had almost forgotten. The last time he had seen the boy had been at a Puddlemere United practice. Al didn't remember much about the practice, only bits and pieces: James quizzing Devin about his older sister, Mary; Lily doing her best to imitate Devin's father's friend – Flynn, or Flit, something starting with 'f' - right down to his impressive scowl and grimace; Hugo doodling on the man's cloak beneath the seats; The man finding out.

Al faintly remembered talking with Devin too, while James had been higher up in the stands, terrorizing Teddy and Mary. He couldn't remember what they had talked about, but he was pretty sure he had insulted all quidditch players and, by extension, the boy's father. Maybe he was here to push Al into the lake. But Devin's smile was warm and kind.

"You can sit with us, if you'd like," Devin said, crooking a thumb towards a boat where two other boys were watching with interest. "Cam's a bit much, but Lip and I are decent enough."

"I heard that," The curly-haired boy called from the boat and Devin grinned.

Al stared, thrown. He could count the number of times he had met Devin on one hand and nearly every memory involved James shoving Al aside so he could grill the boy. He was more familiar with Mary. The short-haired brunette was friends with Teddy from school. She came around more often and was hard to ignore, with her awe-inspiring number of piercings and tattoos. James had a huge crush on her. Al kind of did too, just a little. It was hard not to when she smiled.

Devin had the same smile.

Al wondered _why_ Devin Wood would ask him to sit with him – their fathers were hardly close – but then, Devin glanced over the other occupants in the boat, gaze lingering on Scorpius, and Al drew his own conclusion. Suddenly, Devin's smile didn't seem quite so charming.

"Why?" Al asked. Devin blinked. His mouth opened wordlessly, fumbling for a response. Al didn't give him time to find one. "I'm good where I'm at, _thanks_."

Devin seemed stunned, but only long enough for his gaze to flick to Scorpius and then back to Al. To Al's surprise, the boy smiled. "We can push Cam out of the boat to make more room."

"Dibs!" The other boy in the boat shouted, earning a punch from Cam.

"Kidding," Devin said. "See you around."

With that, Devin headed back over to his own boat where his friends, Cam and Lip, were waiting with identical wide grins. As Al watched, Lip said something, voice too low for Al to hear, and Devin turned a deep shade of red.

"Do you know him?" Scorpius asked. He was watching Devin and looked less than thrilled.

"Not really," Al said, still watching the odd trio. "I've met him a few times. His dad used to play quidditch with mine, I guess. He plays for Puddlemere now."

"Quidditch?" Scorpius repeated, nonplussed.

Al turned back to him and smiled slightly at his tone. "You know, that mind-numbing sport nobody ever seems to shut up about."

The dark-haired girl snorted quietly, face turned away from them. Al and Scorpius exchanged looks and turned away from the girl to hide their smiles.

The boat jolted beneath them and everyone reflexively grab hold of the side of the boat as it begun to move. The fleet of boats glided smoothly across the dark surface of the lake with Hagrid at the lead, guided by some unseen magic. Al slowly released his grip on the rough wood and looked at the approaching castle. The great school towered over them, impossibly big, and soon, he would be a part of it. The idea was a terrifying as it was exhilarating.

"Head's down!" Hagrid called back and they bent their heads as the boat carried them towards a curtain of ivy. Scorpius reached out as they passed through it, catching a strip and letting it slip between fingers. His face was one of pure excited wonder as the ivy slid free, nearly hidden in the darkness of the tunnel, but Al saw it.

When they reached the harbor, the dark-haired girl exhaled hard and was the first out of the bobbing boat. She stretched back a hand to help the blonde out, ignoring Al and Scorpius completely. Al made the correct judgement call and went next, catching and righting Scorpius when he pitched to the side. Hagrid led the first years up a passageway through the rock. They followed silently, slipping on damp rocks and loose pebbles. Hagrid's lantern bobbed ahead, once again the only source of light as they left the boat lanterns behind.

At last, the passage opened onto soft damp grass and Hogwarts sprung back into view, directly before them. If it had seemed huge before, it was nothing compared to now. A girl to Al's left let out a breathless, " _Wow_ ," head tilted back in an attempt to take in its sure vastness. Al silently agreed.

Hagrid led them to the immense front doors and knocked three times, each reverberating thud like a small earthquake in Al's chest. The doors flew open and there, standing in the sudden pool of light from within, was the most intimidating, beautiful looking witch Al had ever seen in his life. She was tall, with long, thick curly black hair, high cheekbones, and shimmering emerald green robes. Her skin, a rich shade of brown, seemed to glow in the warm light of the torches, and her dark, thickly lashed eyes were accentuated by thick lines of kohl, giving them a heavy, piercing effect.

"The firs' 'ears, Professor Ainsworth," Hagrid introduced, clearing his throat. He puffed out his chest, cheeks rosy. Al and Scorpius traded amused looks, eyebrows raised.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Professor Ainsworth responded, voice carrying in the night air. Her dark eyes swept over them and, for a moment, they lingered on Al – or, more specifically, Lyra, still wrapped around Al's shoulders. A sharp eyebrow flicked up, then she turned on her heel and strolled back inside. It took the first years a delayed moment to realize they were expected to follow and they hurried after her.

The entrance hall was stunning, impossibly tall and wide. Torches gleamed along stone walls. Intricate tapestries and paintings hung all over. Suits of armor stood at attention, torchlight glinting off silver. There were a hundred things to look at, but Professor Ainsworth didn't give them time to gawk as she led them swiftly over the flagged stone floor and into a small chamber off to the left. The first years crowded inside and turned to look at her as she addressed them.

"The start of term banquet will begin shortly. First, however, you must be sorted. There are four houses here at Hogwarts in which you will be sorted into: Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Your house will become your new family at Hogwarts. You will attend classes with them, eat with them, sleep with them, spend your free time in your house common room, and, hopefully, stand with them, should the need arise.

"During your time here at Hogwarts, you will meet people who think like you. You will meet people who think the exact opposite. You will learn new things about yourselves you didn't know before. You'll learn things you'll wish you could forget. This place is more than a school. It's a second home, a place to grow and find yourselves, and this moment right here is the start to your discovery. Make it a good start."

Ainsworth moved to leave, then paused and added, as an afterthought, "Students are awarded House points for their achievements. Alternatively, getting caught breaking the rules will cause you to lose them."

She sent a swift, shrewd look over them, as if rooting out the rule-breakers. Again, her eyes lingered on Lyra, who had unwound from Al's shoulders to watch the proceedings, head raised high in the air. Al slowly placed a hand over her head and lowered it.

"The house with the most points is awarded with the House Cup at the end of the year. The Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly. I will be back to collect you when it's time."

"Professor," A timid-looking girl with pig-tails spoke up, voice high and anxious. "My brother said you have to f-fight a dragon to be sorted. That's not true, right?"

"Of course not," Professor Ainsworth responded, and the girl sagged in relief. "It's four dragons, one for each house, and whichever you manage to kill first is the house you're sorted into."

With that, Ainsworth left them alone in the small chamber. The girl promptly burst into tears. Al could hear Rose comforting her with a lengthy explanation about the Sorting Hat. Uninterested in hearing another famous Rose Weasley lecture or the way all the first years seemed to be gravitating towards each other, Al made his way to an empty corner in the back, Scorpius following. Al fitted himself right up against the corner, palms pressed hard against the cool stone. Scorpius stood in front of him, keeping a foot of breathing room between them for which Al was grateful for as he struggled to keep his breathing even.

Any minute now, Professor Ainsworth would return to sort them. Al felt like the walls were closing in on him. He closed his eyes and thought, _Croakoa. Flitterbloom. Jewelweed._ Scorpius leaned closer and asked quietly, "What do you think McGonagall's going to do with she sees your snake?"

Al didn't open his eyes, thought _Kelp. Lacewing fly. Leech Juice_. Responded, "Forget about McGonagall. How about James? He's terrified of her."

Al's voice broke on _terrified_ , but Scorpius didn't comment on it.

"Really?" He asked, moving in closer.

His breath ghosted across Al's cheek, smelling faintly of chocolate and mint, and Al opened his eyes to find the boy looking at him, concerned grey eyes at odds with his casual tone. Al fixed on them. It was too dark for him to see them properly in this little chamber, but he had looked at them plenty during the train ride. He imagined all the different shades of grey that he couldn't see now. His voice felt like it was coming from someone else, faint, distant, "When I first got her, James refused to leave his room for a week. And that was back when she was the size of a quill. Sometimes I put her in his room at night."

Scorpius laughed quietly. "I'd pay to see that."

"James has a dormitory. By the way, he has a cloak we kind of need to steal."

Al's voice broke again and Scorpius question died on his lips. His fingertips grazed the inside of Al's wrist and Al's heart did an odd, complicated little somersault against his ribs, gaze dropping down. Scorpius took that last step into Al's space and lowered his voice further, for only Al to hear. The smell of chocolate and mint was stronger than ever.

"Are you alright?"

Everything inside Al screamed _no_. He gasped out, "Peachy."

"You're scowling."

"That's how I show my excitement."

"Al."

And it was too much. Something inside Al broke, a dam he had carefully built, and the words came flooding out.

"What if I don't know who I am?" Al asked, voice small, gazing desperately into Scorpius' eyes. "What if I'm nothing? Just a collection of ideas and expectations. Articles in a newspaper."

Scorpius tilted his head curiously.

"You're real," He said. He slid his palm against Al's, fingers slipping easily between his, and Al jumped, head snapping up. Heat seared across his face and his muscles tensed, but before he could pull away, Scorpius' lip quirked up on one side, his eyes, impossibly sincere and honest, gazing into Al's.

"See?"

Scorpius squeezed Al's hand hard enough that Al felt the give of his bones beneath his skin, Scorpius' palm hot against his own, his fingertips little feather-light fires on the back of his hand. The small chamber felt unnaturally warm. Torchlight flickered and swayed on the stone walls, dizzying and dim. Al couldn't think of a single potion ingredient.

"You're real," Scorpius repeated, and Al believed him.

"You're not words on paper. You're not somebody else's idea." Scorpius' gaze jumped up from their hands – at some point both their gazes had fallen there – and the boy said, abruptly, "I'll cheer for you. Wherever you go, whatever house you're sorted into. I'll cheer for you louder than anyone else."

Al tore his gaze from their hands and looked at him as something shifted in his chest, allowing him to breathe just a bit easier. The hot, panicky thoughts were still there, at the back of his mind, but they were fainter now. A smile touched his lips, small, barely there, but a smile none the less. It occurred to him then that he couldn't remember every smiling this many times in one day in his life. Al was not a no reason smiler. He didn't smile easily, like James and Lily did.

"You better. I think I'm going to need it."

Scorpius nodded solemnly and gave Al's hand another squeeze. The memory came sudden and sharp, him, James, and Teddy in the woods behind the Potter house, climbing up a giant dirt hill. Al had tagged along despite James' protest, annoyed by the older boy's constant attempts to monopolize Teddy. They had been climbing and James had slipped, fingers scrambling in the dirt. Teddy had stretched back a hand, smile teasing, and James' face had flushed furiously. _"I'd rather plummet to my death than hold a boy's hand_ ," James had grumbled, stubborn and embarrassed, and Teddy had thrown back his head and laughed. Al had watched, silent and breathing hard, dirt clinging to his cheek and fingers.

Boys didn't hold hands. Al knew this. Scorpius was an only child. Maybe he didn't know.

"Ready?" Ainsworth's voice carried over the murmurs of the first years and Al pulled his hand out of Scorpius' as he turned to look at the tall witch. "Follow me."

Silence descended over the first years as they followed Professor Ainsworth across the entrance hall and up to a pair of large double door. Ainsworth paused just outside the door. The first years held their breath. Muffled noise could be heard from the other side of the doors, hundreds of students talking and laughing. Ainsworth's eyes swept over him. One side of her lips tilted up. She threw the large doors open.

Noise and warmth flooded out of the Great Hall, engulfing them. Several first years gasped. It was like stepping into another world. Four long tables stretched out before them, packed full of students and gleaming dish ware. Candles floated above their heads and above that was the night sky, black and star dusted. At the front of the room, on a raised platform, sat the professors. At their center, in a bright golden chair, sat Headmistress McGonagall.

Instead of leading them straight between the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Professor Ainsworth led them right. They lined up along the far-right wall. There was decent sized gap between the wall and the Gryffindor table, plenty of room for the first years to line, and yet, to Al, the distance felt too small. He tried to keep his gaze fixed in front of him, heart in his throat, but it was no use. His eyes had a mind of their own. He skimmed over the Great Hall and found them easily enough.

Fred and Roxanne sat nearest to him, surrounded by a crowd of grinning students. All of them had their attention fixed on something in Fred's hand. Whatever it was, Fred passed it to Roxanne who lobbed it diagonally across the table to a shifty looking boy with curly blonde hair. The boy moved the object behind his back and opened his hand. Al caught a glimpse of a small white candy before an equally shifty looking brunette walked passed and plucked the hard candy smoothly out of the boy's palm. She continued on down the table. Al already knew where she was heading.

Louis Weasley laughed brightly at something the dark-haired girl beside him said, candlelight catching on his new fang earring as his head tilted back. The shifty brunette slipped up beside him, elbows resting on the table. They were too far for Al to hear them, but the girl smiled, pretty brown eyes hooded, and Louis smiled back. The girl gestured to Louis' fang earring with one hand; the other dropped the hard candy smoothly into Louis' goblet. The brunette blew Louis a kiss before she continued on down the table. Louis watched her go until the dark-haired girl beside him angrily snapped her fingers in front of his face.

Victoire sat further down the table, her shimmering strawberry-blonde hair tossed over her shoulder. As always, she looked gorgeous and terrifying, her eyes outlined darkly in kohl, her eyebrows perfectly pointed. Her dark blue eyes were cool as she spoke with one of her friends, a heavily ringed hand dragging absently through her hair, but Al saw the annoyed twist to her lips and knew she wasn't as oblivious to the guy across the table desperately trying to get her attention as she pretended. The guy had better give up soon or run fast.

James sat near the opposite end of the table from Al with his friends. They were all laughing at something except for James, who was scowling, cheeks red.

Al spotted Frank Longbottom at Hufflepuff. Dominque at Ravenclaw.

A family member in every house, except for Slytherin.

The hall fell silent. Al turned to see why. At the center of the raised platform, perched atop a four-legged stool, sat the oldest wizarding hat Al had ever seen in his life. Everyone watched the old hat, expectant. The hat twitched. A first-year boy shrieked. A wide tear opened near the brim of the hat and Scorpius leaned passed the tall girl in front of him to look at the boy.

"I bet he faints," Scorpius whispered back to Al.

The Sorting Hat began to sing. Most of the students listened respectfully, but Al caught a glimpse of James and his friends pretending to sing along with it, sniggering to themselves. Al tuned out the song, too nervous to listen, and, before he knew it, it was over. The Sorting had begun.

"When your name is called, you will sit on the stool and put on the Sorting Hat," Professor Ainsworth spoke into the silence that followed the Sorting Hat's song. "Addison, Katherine."

A small, frightened looking girl stumbled to the stool, nearly falling over her own feet in her haste. Her face went scarlet all the way to the roots of her dark brown hair. She reminded Al of Lily. Perhaps it was the freckles splattered across her face. Or maybe it was the fierce look that entered her eye right before the Sorting Hat slid neatly over her face.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Two more Gryffindors followed and then the blonde from the boat, "Bennet, Chloe," approached the stool. Her sorting took longer than the first three, but before long the Sorting Hat shouted, "SLYTHERIN!" and Chloe headed off to her new house. Her dark-haired friend, "Cox, Hailey," joined her there shortly after. "Ellis, Emma," became the first to be sorted into Ravenclaw, followed by the first Hufflepuff, "Emmet, Wyatt," a quiet looking boy with curly blonde hair and large brown eyes.

The sorting continued, the line of first years slowly dwindling, and then -

"Malfoy, Scorpius!"

Whispers broke out across the Great Hall as people recognized the name. Scorpius separated from the line and, for a crazy moment, Al considered reaching out and stopping him. They could run away. Uncle Charlie had always had a soft spot for him. Maybe he'd stow them away in Romania. Neither of them had to be sorted. But Scorpius approached the stool with his head held high, his narrow shoulders squared. Professor Ainsworth dropped the Sorting Hat onto his head and – _nothing._ Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Al leaned forward on his tiptoes. Thirty seconds. Thirty-two –

"SLYTHERIN!"

Al fell back hard onto his feet, a ragged breath tearing from his chest. The Slytherin table clapped dutifully, wholly unsurprised. Al hated them. He hated all of this right now – Hogwarts, the sorting, his family's gazes on him, waiting, expectant.

"Malory, Serena," went to Ravenclaw.

Al closed his eyes.

"Potter, Albus!"

* * *

End notes: This project promises to be an absolute _beast_ , so any feedback and encouragement will be greatly appreciated. Check out my Tumblr, pcnsysparkinson, for writing updates, deleted scenes, and random drabbles here and there. Everything I post related to this fanfic will be tagged, 'voiceless'. If you want to shoot me a message, my Tumblr is the best place to reach me.

It will be awhile before Chapter 2 is up. Be patient with me. I am very devoted to seeing this fanfic through to the end and I already have all the bigger details planned out, so I promise you I am not abandoning it. I originally planned on writing the whole fanfic and then posting one chapter at a time, but this turned into a far more massive project than it started, so I am changing that plan and posting as I go to help keep myself motivated.


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